This was the perfect, well-blown human
flower, the woman. The woman! Slender, beautifully molded, sinuous,
incomparably fine--the woman! He closed his eyes in sudden subjection
to that thing called rapture. He held her close, strained to his own
triumphant, vigorous body. She was his! The woman! Ah, it _was_
different!
"How beautiful--how wonderful you are, Christine," he whispered. "I
can't believe that you are _my_ Christine."
She could only smile her confirmation. No words could have told so
clearly the sensuous delight that stilled her tongue. There was joy in
her soft breathing, in the gently spreading nostrils, in the half-
closed eyes. She was experiencing the unspeakable thrill that comes
but once in the dream of love.
When he spoke, at uneven intervals, his voice was husky with the
passion that consumed him.
Once he was saying: "It is too good to be true. I came unbidden,
determined to learn how I stood with you. I could not wait. When I saw
you to-day, I said to myself that you had grown away from me. I told
myself I should have to win you all over again. You seemed
unapproachable.
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